


Fractured

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: Dark, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too much, too fucking much, and it all has to come out eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fractured

It's all Kris's fault, really. By the time he meets Tommy, Adam has already spent the better part of a year telling himself no, a mantra of _straight-married-straight-married_ repeating in his head over and over. And Tommy seems so perfect, blessedly single and ridiculously pretty and chill enough to maybe fool around a little without turning it into a whole _thing._ Adam's already decided to keep him when he mentions he's straight. And ok, he's not going to lie and say that's not a little bit disappointing, but Tommy is awesome and they hit it off right away and Adam doesn't have any regrets. He can do this – _has_ been doing it. Same as Kris.

But it's _not_ the same, not at all, because Tommy? Tommy is a _tease._ And he's the worst kind, Adam thinks, because half the time it's like he doesn't realize he's doing it. He's just a touchy-feely kind of guy, and the more he likes you, the more he hangs all over you. And he really, _really_ likes Adam.

When Tommy gives Adam permission to like, grab him and stuff, it's a relief. Perfect. Just a little bit of meaningless play onstage, for show. Just enough to take the tension out of the air.

Or not.

The AMAs are ridiculous, emotions and nerves through the roof, and Adam's raw and on edge all day. The feeling only worsens as the performance approaches, and by the time he gets onstage, Adam's running mostly on habit and instinct. And his instinct, when he gets close to Tommy for the tame little interaction they've rehearsed, is to grab Tommy by the back of the neck and kiss him, kiss him with all the force of long months of restraint, because they're onstage and in front of the whole world and he _can._

The one and only person he apologizes to after is Tommy, who seems more amused than anything. He laughs and says something about counterculture and maybe something about Manson, but Adam's not really listening. Instead, he's watching Tommy's lips as he speaks, slowly starting to realize the situation he's put himself in. He _knows_ now – knows far too much. Knows how Tommy's lips fit against his. Knows the feel of Tommy's neck, small and fragile under his hand, how the tendons cord when he tenses. Knows just how long it takes to make Tommy's knees give out under him.

He knows how Tommy tastes.

And that taste, it turns out, is addictive. Adam tries, he really does, holds out for a long, long time. But there's that damn bit in the show, so much like the AMAs, that _interact with Tommy_ bit, and it's just so _hard,_ standing there and looking down at Tommy's lips and knowing that here, onstage, he's _allowed._ Can do what he wants. Take what he wants.

The kisses start out small. Then they grow. Then they turn into something else entirely, big dirty pornstar licks that drive Adam nuts, because Tommy's tongue is little and pointed and flexible, and that's another thing he really shouldn't have allowed himself to know.

It's kind of horrible and kind of awesome at the same time, and Adam is damn grateful for the privacy of hotel rooms to himself and a bus bedroom with a locking door, because he doesn't think he's jacked off this much since he was in ninth grade with a massive and hopeless crush on his science teacher.

The night when everything breaks down is the night Tommy kisses him back. He can't remember what city they're in, would be hard-pressed to remember his own _name_ when he realizes Tommy is pressing up against him and moving his lips and making some little sound that Adam feels more than hears...and then he's off, moving mechanically through the rest of the choreography, wondering what the _fuck_ just happened and how he's supposed to deal with this bullshit _now._

He goes out alone that night, or what passes for alone these days, two large security guys tagging along. The club is dark and hot and crowded, and he disappears into the mass of bodies as best he can, a double vodka in his hand, his second - or is it third? - of the night. Because fuck it, he's a rock star now, and this is what rock stars do – go out and get drunk and fuck whoever they want. Well. Pretty much whoever they want.

He finds this adorable little blonde boy, barely old enough to even be in here, and Adam backs him into a corner and leans over him the way he likes and gives him the sex eyes, and the kid just melts and presses up into him, and oh yes, that's good, that's _awesome._ He's embarrassingly hard already, and what's left of his brain is busy making plans to escape to the bathroom and maybe somehow back to the hotel, because once is _definitely_ not going to be enough.

And then someone decides to be massively, massively uncool, and starts screaming his name and pointing, and security rushes and attempts to keep the crowd from totally mobbing him. When he looks back down, the kid is gone, slipped away amidst the commotion, probably scared away by the rising insanity behind him. Adam groans and throws back the last of the vodka and runs a stealthy hand over his cock, frustrated beyond belief. Then security is in his ear, telling him they have to go, and he lets himself be rushed out to the car, too hot and pissed off and, goddamn it, alone.

Twenty minutes later, he throws open the door to his hotel room and slams it behind him, but it's weighted somehow, and instead of a satisfying bang, it eases shut with hardly a sound. Adam twists his lips and glares at it, unreasonably angry. "Fine. Fucking be that way."

"Adam?"

Oh no. _No._ He can't think of anything he needs _less_ right now than....

"What happened? Are you ok, man?"

Tommy stands up and comes toward him, looking worried and gorgeous and god _damn_ it, why is he even here?

Adam mumbles something and tries to escape into the bathroom, but Tommy _follows_ him, way too close like he always is, and Adam braces his hands on either side of the sink and leans over it and stares back at Tommy in the mirror, all sharp angles and deep shadows in the harsh florescent light. He can see his own eyes, and they look unfamiliar, a mad slanting edge to them that he doesn't recognize, and oh fuck, Tommy needs to get out _right the fuck now._

Tommy reaches out and puts a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, talk to me. You look..."

Adam reaches up and slaps the hand away, swatting at it like a pest he wants to be rid of. "Tommy, just...I'm fine. Just want to be alone."

"You don't look fine."

Adam grits his teeth. Fucking Tommy and his fucking persistence and why does he have to fucking _care_ so much?

He tries to calm himself, goes for a smile. It comes out more like a snarl, and his eyes narrow, and shit shit _shit,_ this isn't getting better, it's getting worse, fast, alcohol and frustration and pent-up desire all combining to push him toward the edge. He's not sure what's on the other side, but it can't be anything good.

"Tommy. I. Am. Fine. Leave me the fuck _alone."_ His voice is rasping, low and dark, and Tommy's eyes are wide and deep-brown and so goddamned innocent-looking, and Adam knows better, knows that Tommy has rough edges and multifaceted complexities and a deep-running strength that not many people get to see, but on top of all that he looks like a fucking sacrificial virgin, and sometimes he hates the universe for shoving Tommy right in front of him and _not letting him touch._

And oh yeah, sometimes Tommy can also be really fucking stupid. Because instead of doing the sane thing and retreating, he comes closer, _closer,_ presses right up against Adam's back, lays one hand over Adam's where it rests on the fake-marble countertop, fits his chin over Adam's shoulder. And then he meets Adam's eyes in the mirror and gives him this sad little pout, totally genuine, and Adam knows that Tommy is just being his sweet caring self, but it doesn't matter because all he can look at are plush pouting lips, and all he can think about is how soft they are, soft and sweet and masking all that wet heat inside. And that's _it,_ that's his fucking limit, and something snaps inside him and his brain shuts off and goes to this strange primal place that would be fucking terrifying if he had the capacity to analyze right now, but he _doesn't,_ and the whole world narrows to the physical, all that built-up energy hurtling toward release.

He shakes Tommy off, _hard,_ hard enough to send him stumbling back against the bathtub. Then Adam turns, facing him, stalking forward in the tiny room and looming over Tommy, using every inch he has to push his advantage.

"I told you to get out. What the fuck do I have to do?" he growls, right in Tommy's face. He can see his reflection in Tommy's eyes.

Tommy just shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you like this. No fucking way."

Something surges within him, dark and powerful, and he sways back and lets his body take over, backhanding Tommy hard across the face, knuckles colliding into high cheekbone, sudden sting at the contact. Tommy's hand flies to his cheek, long fingers hovering gingerly over reddening skin, and slowly, very, very slowly, he raises his head again to meet Adam's gaze.

His eyes flare, hot, angry, and his lips curl, and the threat in his voice is clear when he speaks.

"Do that again." Not a plea, not a command. A fucking challenge.

Control is a distant memory. Adam swings again, open-palmed to the other cheek, driving Tommy's head down and to the side, and it's not anything near what he's ever wanted to do to Tommy, but it's satisfying in its own way, loud crack of contact ringing through the air, aftershock on his skin, and he can almost see the outline of his fingers slowly appearing on Tommy's cheek, _his_ mark on that pale skin.

There's one still moment, just one. And then Tommy's lunging at him, slamming him back into the counter, and Adam grunts at the hard edge jutting into his back, knows it's going to bruise. He shoves Tommy away, and Tommy pushes back, and then they're actually _fighting,_ arms flailing and tangling, feet scrambling for better position on the slick tile. Adam thinks he's won for just a moment, when he catches Tommy by the arm and swings him around to get an arm around his neck, holding him tight against his body. But Tommy twists violently, squirming out of Adam's grip, and darts away, going for the door, for the greater space of the room outside. Adam reaches for him, but all he gets is a handful of Tommy's hair. Tommy yelps as Adam jerks him back, his hands scrabbling madly at Adam's, trying to free himself. And then his foot catches over the tile just as Adam yanks, and he goes down, a clumsy spinning move that ends with Tommy on his knees at Adam's feet, Adam's hand still clutching at his hair.

Adam feels a smirk come over his face as he stands there, looking down the length of his body at Tommy, kneeling between his legs, staring up at him with his mouth open and panting and fire in his eyes and the mark of Adam's hand on his cheeks, and oh, the things he could do right now, things he's thought about and dreamed about and been fucking _desperate_ for.

Then there's a loud knock on the door, and he hears Monte's voice calling through. "Adam? Hey, you ok? We heard some loud noises, thought they might be coming from your room...."

Adam hesitates just a moment. Then he looses his grip on Tommy and stumbles away, out of the bathroom. "Fine. Just knocked some stuff over," he calls, pulling the slightly-embarrassed-but-totally-fine-and-thanks-for-checking voice out of nowhere.

"Ok, man. See you in the morning." Footsteps recede down the hallway, and Adam takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, wondering how the fuck he got here and if it's too late to go back.

Tommy clears his throat behind him, and Adam turns reluctantly, guilt starting to weave its insidious tendrils through him as his head starts to clear.

"Tommy..."

"You wanted me to go. I'm going."

"But..."

"Get out of the way."

"Please..."

"Adam, get out of my fucking way."

And he does, slumps back against the nearest wall and tries to disappear into it. Tommy gives him one last look, and there's heat in it, heat that Adam doesn't understand and can't define and probably never will now, because it's fucked, everything's fucked, and it's entirely his fault.

Then Tommy goes, holds his head high and leaves without a single look back as the door whispers to a close behind him. And something in Adam breaks, and his legs give out, and he lets himself slide down the wall to the floor, curling his knees up to his chest and burying his head in his arms and letting the tears take him.


End file.
